Two For One Special
by caithream
Summary: The prompt: Sam is grievously wounded on a hunt and Dean is kept from seeing him in the hospital because he has a very bad cold or flu and the medical staff don't want to risk exposing the injured brother to the other's viral infection.


Comment fic for spngenlove's hurt/comfort meme on Livejournal. Prompt: _Dean (or Sam) is grievously wounded on a hunt and Sam (or Dean) is kept from seeing him in the hospital because he has a very bad cold or flu and the medical staff don't want to risk exposing the injured brother to the other's viral infection. _

* * *

She didn't like the look of that one over there.

He had the face and body of one of her first boyfriends, years ago. The one that had made her momma threaten to whip her senseless if she ever brought him 'round again. Happily married for twenty-seven years or not, the boy in the waiting room was as good on the eyes as lemonade was on a hot sticky day.

'Cept, of course, that his nose was dripping like a leaky faucet and he was twitching and shivering almost nonstop. Sure, she had her own work that needed to be done, but it was more amusing to stop and watch his head list from side to side, jerking every now and again as it fell forward as he tried to fight sleep. Poor thing was pale and worn to the bone, and it was plain to see that the nasty weather outside hadn't helped his flu.

She answered a few more phone calls and filed a few more batches of paperwork when she saw him get up and thought that snot had won over his pride and that he was getting up for some tissues. Instead, he came over to the counter, his mouth turned down miserably.

"Want to--" he tried, his voice too scratchy. He huffed a gentle cough into the crook of his elbow. "Want to see m'brother."

She nodded, though she already knew her answer. "Which one was your brother, honey?"

"Sam... uh. He had a big gash on his stomach. Floppy stupid hair."

Must have been before she came on her shift, then. "I'll go check up on him and let you know how he is, okay? You just sit tight."

"_No,_" he said, forceful and agitated. "I want to see him myself. I've been here for hours. I want to see him with my own two eyes."

"I understand," she said, soothing. "But you've got what looks like the flu there, honey, and if you get him sick on top of his injury, he could be in a world of trouble."

"I don't have the _flu_," he snapped. "Just a stupid cold. Gimme a face mask then, or something. I just wanna see the damn kid."

"I'll see what I can do." That was the standard line she gave to most hot-headed numbers that came this way, and he seemed to know it. He turned from the desk with a growl and plopped back down into the chair he occupying before.

She looked through the current files and finally found Samuel Duncan, admitted at 8:35 earlier this evening with an wound to the stomach that punctured through the small intestine. He was already out of a successful surgery and resting.

Wouldn't be her night to work if there wasn't ever a sudden flurry of activity, phone screeching off the hook and nurses and relatives roaming to and fro like chickens with their heads cut off. The section of chairs by her counter emptied, filled, and then emptied again. It was another hour and a half before she could even glance up to check on the miserable boy.

He looked worse. He bottom was on the edge of the seat, his neck resting on the top edge of the chair, his dull eyes half-lidded. Sweat dampened his hair and his cheeks blushed with fever. When he caught her staring, he gave a gigantic wet sniff and moved forward to sit up, perched on the edge of the chair for a few long moments, and stood up with a sway that she thought was going to bring him down to his knees.

He ambled over, and she watched with pursed lips, knowing his kind. His kind didn't appreciate the babying. His kind was her husband's, too. She had a type, she guessed.

"Gonna see m'brother," he slurred finally, leaning on the counter heavily.

"He's out of a successful surgery, honey," she said evenly. "He's resting. He needs his sleep."

He gave her a hard, blank look. A clumsy turn and he was headed behind her, toward the patient's rooms.

"Hey now." She moved quickly in front of him to block him. "I'm not jokin', sweetheart, you're sick. You lay so much as a finger on him and he's liable to not leave this hospital for a good while, you understand?"

He grunted and tried to move around her, his arm scorching her hand when she grabbed him. "No. _No._ Sam. I gotta-- _Sam._"

"You don't sit back down I'll knock you out myself, honey," she murmured, but he was immovable.

"Just gonna see my brother, just let me see m' brother, _goddammit_--" and as his breath hitched it caught on the mucus draining from everywhere. His cough was like a barking seal, like he couldn't catch breath even if he had a net.

She held a shoulder as he sunk to his knees; tears leaked from his eyes and he suddenly doubled over to vomit out everything that had been draining into his stomach.

She sighed, and almost as an afterthought, pinched the skin on the top of his hand and tsked when it went slowly slowly down.

"Check his temp, and if he doesn't wake up to drink some water, give him a saline drip," she said to her coworkers who had gathered when they heard the commotion. The boy was nearly unconscious, eyelids fluttering. She carded her fingers through his damp hair and thought for a moment. "And see if you can't fit him in next to 218, if only for a few hours. Kid's got a protective big-brother streak like you wouldn't believe."


End file.
